Friendship Park: The Eroding Promise of Binational Community at the U.S.–Mexico Border

Visitors at the border wall on the Tijuana side of Friendship Park. Photo taken by Hattie Bilson.

Situated on the border between San Diego, California, and Tijuana, Mexico is Friendship Park, also known as El Parque de la Amistad. The park, inaugurated in 1971 by First Lady Pat Nixon, promised a space of binational unity and collaboration. However, over the past five decades, the park has come to increasingly reflect the division between the two nations. Persistent militarization and border wall construction threaten the park’s raison d'être. While the Mexican side of the park remains a vibrant space of recreation and communal activism, Friendship Park’s U.S. side has been closed entirely since late 2019.

At Friendship Park’s inauguration, First Lady Nixon established its recreational and diplomatic purposes, declaring: “I hope there won’t be a fence too long here…May there never be a wall between these two great nations, only friendship.” Immediately, Friendship Park became a symbol of U.S.-Mexico border relations, envisioned by government planners to be enjoyed by visitors from the U.S. and Mexico alike. 
In its early decades, the spirit of community was omnipresent. Families from both sides of the border filled Friendship Park, picnicking, surfing, and enjoying the park’s ocean views. Visitors from Mexico would venture to Imperial Beach, San Diego, for soccer matches, and beachgoers would wander from San Diego to Playas de Tijuana for tacos.

Friendship Park’s status as the sole federally established binational meeting place along the 2,000-mile U.S.–Mexico border heightens its unique value. For individuals awaiting passport renewal, rulings on hearings, or on parole or probation, Friendship Park was the one location where they could meet loved ones across the border. For decades, visitors would travel hundreds of miles for the unique opportunity of a face-to-face reunion. 

Border securitization has increasingly limited such interactions. The 2011 addition of a dense mesh grid rendered cross-border embraces impossible, making “pinky kisses” the only possible physical contact for those separated by immigration status. Now, the closure of the park’s U.S. side forestalls even limited cross-border interaction. 

How has Friendship Park traveled so far from its intended purpose? The answer: U.S. nativism, border militarization, and a securitization strategy that began with the park’s first solid fence built in 1979. 

Friendship Park’s first decade coincided with a rise in U.S. nativism. From 1970 to 1980, California's Latin American population nearly doubled, provoking fears of an “out of control” border in the media and government. Journalists described migrants as an “alien invasion” threatening California with a “state of siege.” As anti-immigrant sentiment proliferated, rhetoric began to increasingly target Friendship Park, referred to as “a smuggler’s paradise” by local news sources. 

The construction of fences in the late 1970s—a culmination of increased migration, nativist sentiment, and evolving immigration policy—marked the beginning of a physical and ideological shift. By the 1990s, concerns over illegal immigration and crime led the U.S. government to initiate a militarization of the border. The U.S. Border Patrol used materials from military airstrips to reinforce Friendship Park’s fence, and in 1994, Operation Gatekeeper instituted layered surveillance, increased officer presence, and expanded wall construction to prevent border crossings. Friendship Park became a center for military exercises and drills, described by activist Jill Holslin as “the initial test site of late twentieth-century border militarization.”

Since 9/11, officials have sought to legitimize border militarization under the guise of national security. The 2009 construction of a secondary wall solidified Friendship Park’s transformation into a prison-like environment, where visitors on the U.S. side were required to enter a space between fences colloquially referred to as “the cage.” For Border Patrol, the “cage” creates an enforcement zone, a tactical site within this space of connection used to apprehend unauthorized border crossers. This change in the park’s design is more than a structural alteration; it symbolizes the erosion of the ideals of friendship and unity on which Friendship Park was established.

By contrast, Tijuana’s side of Friendship Park remains a vibrant hub of activity, with gathering spaces, street food vendors, and a border wall mural that conveys messages of strength and hope against an increasingly fortified divide. Traditions that were once binational, such as art festivals, beach cleanups, the binational garden of native plants, and the cross-border church, are preserved on the park’s Tijuana side, reflecting the U.S. and Mexico’s disparate attitudes toward their shared border. 

While Friendship Park and its traditions have consistently adapted to limitations, what once was a space of binational connection now serves as a physical manifestation of the degree of separation between the two sides of the border. Against this backdrop, activists and community groups have embarked on a decades-long struggle to reclaim the space for its original purpose of connection. Organizations like Border Angels and Friends of Friendship Park advocate for its accessibility, organizing cross-border petitions, protests, and negotiations. Such efforts have brought significant relief to the families for whom Friendship Park is their sole avenue for connection.

Despite consistent advocacy for access to Friendship Park, the U.S. side is approaching the fourth anniversary of its closure. This closure, attributed to the need to replace deteriorating border walls, has allowed for the revival of Trump-era wall construction plans, raising the height of border fences from 18 to 30 feet. The U.S. Border Patrol has stated that upon completion of the wall’s construction, they will restore limited access. However, they have not outlined the time frame or circumstances for reopening.

With the narrative of division more pronounced than ever before, Friendship Park evidences the power of politics to shape physical and symbolic landscapes. In this context, activist efforts to preserve the park’s spirit of friendship not only defend a physical space but also uphold the ideals of binational unity and humane border management. 

Amid the construction of increased division, San Diego and Tijuana have been named the first-ever joint World Design Capital for 2024. With this title comes a series of conferences, events, and workshops to reimagine the cross-border community through innovative design, an effort San Diego Mayor Todd Gloria hopes will allow Friendship Park to become “the destination it was created to be.” This initiative holds the potential to restore Friendship Park to an open space of binational friendship. However, reimagining Friendship Park requires more than just ambition; it demands a collective commitment to demilitarization, confronting both the park’s physical barriers and the layers of ideology legitimizing their imposition. If successful, this effort would not only revive Friendship Park’s original vision of unity but also mark a significant step toward a more inclusive and compassionate approach to U.S.–Mexico border relations.

Hattie Bilson (GS ’25) is a staff writer at the Columbia Political Review. She is a junior studying political science and Middle Eastern and European Languages and Cultures as part of the Dual BA between Columbia and Trinity College Dublin.